Cleaning Service
by Smackalicious
Summary: McGee gets a little surprise while cleaning his apartment. Surprise pairing! Hangman prize for Oxymoronic Alliteration. And apparently I don't know how to check to make sure I have the right fandom. :P


**Title: Cleaning Service  
Pairing: Surprise  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Surprise (I can't tell you if it's Het or Slash or Mixed, come on)  
Cat: Humor, Romance  
Spoilers: None.  
Warnings: None.  
Summary: McGee gets a little surprise while cleaning his apartment.****  
Author's Note: Written as a prize for Oxymoronic Alliteration for correctly guessing my Hangman puzzle.  
**

* * *

"There. Perfect." McGee carefully placed the last novel on his bookshelf. He had succeeded in alphabetizing, color coordinating, and arranging all his books by both size and genre. It was all part of his spring cleaning routine. Well, not really spring cleaning. It was more of an every weekend thing. But he made such a huge deal out of it that it felt like what spring cleaning did to other people. But he actually enjoyed it.

No wonder he didn't have a date tonight.

He grumbled to himself about his lack of a social life and headed to the bathroom, the next victim in his cleaning spree. As he turned on the bathtub faucet to fill a bucket with water, he didn't hear the knock on his front door. He whistled to himself, turning off the water once the pail was full, then seemed to notice how hot it was in the room, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Well, I guess I don't need this," he said to himself, peeling off the t-shirt that had begun to cling to his chest. He turned back to the bathtub, grabbing a sponge from under the sink and dipping it in the pail of soapy water. The shower walls were his first target, and as he scrubbed at the tiles, he failed to notice a presence behind him, studying his every move.

The visitor watched in appreciation as the muscles in McGee's back flexed and contracted with every strong movement he made. _Why didn't I ever notice this before?_ the visitor thought.

McGee continued his assault on the mildew, still oblivious to his visitor's presence. It was when he bent over to squeeze out the sponge and thus presented his lovely denim-clad backside in all its glory that his visitor could no longer hold back and reached a hand out to place on his flesh.

McGee felt the ghostly touch on his back and froze. Someone was there, behind him, in his apartment, in his freaking _bathroom_. He went over a plan of attack in his head: He would flip around, grabbing the guy's hands and pressing him over the sink, demanding to know what he wanted while forcing him to endure an unexpected shower to the face. Yeah, that would work.

He began to stand . . . then slipped on a patch of water and fell face-first into the bathtub.

So much for that.

He steeled his voice and tried to sound as gruff as possible. "I'm a federal agent and I have a gun." No, he didn't have it on him at the moment, but he wasn't lying – he _did_ own a gun. He just hoped it would be enough to scare away his intruder. There was a shuffling noise and McGee knew the person was still there. Damn. "Did you hear me?" he asked, garnering as much meanness as he could into the question.

"McGee, it's just me."

His eyes narrowed as he recognized the voice and turned his head to confirm whether his ears were playing tricks on him or whether some secret sexual fantasy of his was about to come true. Well, not that he had a sexual fantasy involving cleaning, but . . .

"McGee?" the voice repeated.

He shook his head and managed to turn it. "Ziva?" he asked.

She smirked. "Would you like some help?" After seeing the way his muscles worked, she was just dying to get her hands on him.

"Um, I suppose." McGee twisted his body so he was facing her and only then noticed the look of hunger in her eyes. He blushed and held out his hands for her to take. "What are you doing here?" he asked right before she took his hands.

She shrugged, clasping his hands in her own. "I knocked, but you must not have heard me."

He gave her a look. "So you just came in?"

She gave him an innocent look – damn, she was cute when she did that. "I heard the water running, so I knew you were home . . ."

McGee sighed. "Okay, I forgive you. Now help me out of here."

Ziva smiled. "Gladly." She pulled on his arms, sliding forward herself, and as she reached the side of the tub, let out a small yelp as she slipped on the same patch of water that had propelled McGee into the tub, falling on top of him.

"Ow," McGee said after a few moments, and Ziva attempted to disentangle herself from him, concerned.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her hands traveling from his hands to his chest and then to his head.

"Yeah, I think so," he groaned, opening his eyes and finding Ziva's face – her beautiful, exotic, angelic, devilish, concerned face – directly in front of his. He forced himself to keep breathing. It was just Ziva. He smiled. "Yes, I am definitely alright."

Ziva felt a smile stretch across her face as she watched the way McGee's eyes lit up upon seeing her. It was nice to see that she had that sort of effect on someone. "Shall we? I'm sure you would like to finish cleaning."

"Well, um, I was thinking about taking a break for dinner." He blushed. He couldn't even ask Ziva to have a meal with him without getting embarrassed.

Ziva smirked. "That is actually why I came over. I was planning on making dinner and wanted to know if you wanted to come over."

"Oh." He blushed harder. "You could've just called." He mentally slapped himself instantly for his choice of words.

"Yes," Ziva sounded thoughtful, "but I wanted to see you."

McGee noticed the change in her voice. "Ziva?" he asked, his own voice husky.

She looked into his eyes, not even attempting to hide her arousal, and said, "Let's skip dinner."

McGee slowly nodded his assent and soon found his lips enveloped in an intense kiss.

Monday morning rolled around and Tony whistled as McGee hobbled in. "Rough weekend, Probie?"

McGee smirked. "_Very_."

Tony frowned, curious, and strode to McGee's desk. "What'd you do?"

McGee grinned. "Cleaned my apartment."

Tony chuckled. "Only you would be excited about that, Mr. McClean."

McGee shrugged. "Ziva came over and helped. I . . . fell in the bathtub."

Tony narrowed his eyes as Ziva wandered in. McGee stood from his desk, groaning slightly, and made his way to Ziva's desk, holding out a hair tie. "I found this this morning."

"Ah, thank you, McGee," she said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. He turned back for his desk, shooting Tony a triumphant look that only broadened when Ziva spoke again.

"Perhaps next time we should clean the bedroom."

**THE END!**


End file.
